Violent Evolution: The Story of KREATOR

Von Hilmar Bender

VIOLENT EVOLUTION tells the story of Kreator - the titans of teutonic thrash - from the coal-mining town of Essen, Germany. It is the story of a group of bored teenagers who brought the brutality of everyday life into the rehearsal room. They let their hair grow, formed a band and landed a record deal before they had even reached twenty.

Drawing on exclusive interviews with the band's members (both past and present), family, producers, filmmakers and crew, Violent Evolution explores the band's remarkable rise from formative years to spectacular success, headlining the greatest open-air stages on the planet.

This is their story, from the start to today; from Kindergarten (literally) to rulers of the Thrash Kingdom. An exciting chronicle of one of the most important thrash metal bands in the world.

• Sprache: Deutsch
• Herausgeber: UBOOKS
• Erscheinungsdatum: 31. Juli 2013
• ISBN: 9783944154954

Buchvorschau

­­­VIOLENT EVOLUTION

THE STORY OF

HILMAR BENDER

Translated and edited by

Emma Östmann and Kathryn Fetteroll

Second Edition, April 2013

Copyright © 2011, 2013 by Hilmar Bender

Cover: Andreas Schmidt and Emma Östmann

Original German title: Violent Evolution

– die Geschichte von Kreator

Released by Ubooks, Germany

Translated and edited by Emma Östmann and Kathryn Fetteroll

with special thanks to Hilmar Bender, Joyce Fetteroll and

the Mille Militia Mädels – www.facebook.com/groups/306536389383810/

ISBN 978-3-944154-95-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication

may be reproduced, in any form or by any means,

without the prior permission in writing of Ubooks-Verlag.

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Special thanks to photographers Siarhei Hahulin, Christian Hasselbusch (www.c-hasselbusch.de), Harald Hoffmann (www.haraldhoffmann.com), Natalia Stupnikova and Pieter Verdoes. Thank you Andreas Stein, Roberto Fioretti and Frank Gosdzik for sharing your

collections. Thank you everyone who has contributed to the text and the list.

For my little son.

A new breed has formed here, with tone and manners in common, and all the advantages and disadvantages of the young: freshness, mixed with an easygoing, almost colonial, barbarism. The province – the Ruhr region – does not open itself up to strangers. It is averse to visitors, suspicious of idle people, and the tourist facilities are only for casual visitors, not for those who want to stay. [...] Only hard-working people are sought after, invited, welcomed here. And yet, the Ruhr region still has its attractions. It still smells of money; of hard-earned, easily-frittered-away money; mercenary money, 10-day-wages, measured in material things.

Heinrich Böll, 1958

(Translated from the German original Im Ruhrgebiet by Heinrich Böll. In Werke, Kölner edition,

volume 10. © 1958, 1967, 2005 Kiepenheuer & Witsch GmbH & Co. KG, Köln)

WE ASKED FOR AN ENGLISH EDITION

AND THEN ENDED UP DOING THE

TRANSLATION OURSELVES

Hey, Kat! What do you say we give the people the background story to how all of this came about?

Of course! I think people would enjoy hearing how all this madness was born! Between broken computers, Kreator concerts, balancing life and full-time jobs, switched deadlines and battling words for months, we managed to pull off a translation of something we ourselves were so excited to read! Emma brought the idea to life, and we ran with it! So she should tell the story of how everything actually came into being.

"Yes! This whole thing started on Christmas Eve 2011. I wrote a message to Cindy in Australia, because on her Facebook profile it said, ‘I love it when Mille yells!’ This girl must be as crazy as I am, I thought. A couple of weeks later we started a Facebook group, the Mille Militia – International Miland Petrozza ­Appreciation Society for Women, and began posting Kreator photos, interviews and YouTube clips. The group grew and today we are 47 members from all over the world – women only – except for Hilmar, who is the only man allowed because he wrote this book. But what is the Mille Militia really all about, Kat?"

Appreciating Mille! Everything to do with him and his music! And we really do mean everything, too. Which is how I originally found the Militia, wandering around on the internet until I found a place where I could share photos, videos, stories, my artwork and worship in the Temple of Mille … or I mean, discuss matters in a group of cool, like-minded people on the internet. Yes. That then led to me joining Emma on her endeavor to translate this book!

"Yes, that’s how it all started a year ago. Actually, I think it was Lorena from Brazil (another one of the Mille Militia Mädels) who first suggested we should do the translation ourselves. Some of us had already read Violent Evolution in German, and we knew there was a great demand for an English version. Also, this new edition provided a great opportunity to share some of the rare photos we have found, and Kat’s amazing Kreator fan-art! Some of those drawings now illustrate this book, along with lots of exclusive photos – both new and old. And stories, stories, stories! There are so many interesting little tour stories and anecdotes in this book already, but we have even more! Please share that funny elevator story, Kat!"

Yes! One of my favorite Kreator stories was told to me by Kurt Brecht of DRI: Back when the two bands were touring together in the late ‘80s, it took Kurt a few shows to catch a whole Kreator set. Finally, he was able to and one song in particular stuck out for him. Later on, Kurt ran into Mille in the hotel elevator. Psyched to tell Mille how much he liked the one specific song, he told the Kreator­ frontman which one it was. Mille’s expression of excitement dissolved to despair. When Kurt asked why, Mille explained, ‘That song you mentioned. It’s called Lambs to the Slaughter. It’s a cover song. The only cover song we do!’ It was a very awkward rest of the elevator ride after that for the both of them.

Hahaha, poor Mille! I have another funny story first hand from Mikael Stanne of Dark Tranquillity. This was also back in the late ‘80s, and Mikael and his friends had a garage band in Gothenburg, Sweden. Their first really important musical influence was Kreator’s ‘Flag of Hate’ on vinyl, bought at the local record store. (Mikael told me how they bought everything that came out on Noise Records, because ‘how can you not trust a German record label?’) Anyway. Mikael was blown away by ‘Flag of Hate’ and wanted to do a cover of the song with his own band, but he couldn’t make out the lyrics! What to do? He somehow managed to get hold of the phone number to Mille’s parents in Essen, Germany (this was when Mille was still living at home), called them up and asked if he could speak to Mille. He wanted Mille to read him the lyrics to ‘Flag of Hate’ over the phone!

There are too many ridiculous and silly stories to tell about the translating process too, most of which happening on very little sleep and overdosing on Kreator­ at hours of the night no one should be up editing passages about headbanging cows. Or the mysterious drug, Prolofan. But that’s what this was all about: having a blast doing the coolest job two Kreator nuts could ask for. Translated with loving care by fans for fans! Lots of loving care!

Oh yes! All for the love of God of Riffs! We asked Mille once in an interview how it felt to have his own female fan club; did it make him feel proud or embarrassed? Mille answered, ‘Both!’ … (Sorry Mille, we didn’t mean to embarrass you! :-)

I think the best way to sum up the Mille Militia is at the end of this book where Emma has lovingly captured one of our finest moments getting quite excited over the infamous Kreator Beach Picture. Going into detail about how I felt when I first saw that would not be safe right now. So go look at the picture instead and enjoy the craziness that ensued!

Ooo, I feel a little bit embarrassed myself right now! Haha! But that photo is just too good not to share with the rest of the world. Thank you Kreator for the inspiration! And special thanks to Hilmar, who has been extremely supportive and put up with our endless questions. We would never have pulled this off without you. Thank you, Hilmish! I hope we did your story justice.

I’d also like to give a shout out and thank my mother, Joyce, for stepping in when my computer decided to quit on me in the middle of editing! Right close to the deadline! She really saved us.

Thanks Joyce! And very special thanks to Cindy Karastanovic and the Mille Militia Mädels worldwide – all of the same blood! And finally, thank you Kreator for the music! Thanks to the former band members and especially to Mille, Jülle, Speesy and Sami. Without you there would be no story to tell!

Emma Östmann and Kathryn Fetteroll

Stenungsund and Dearborn Heights

January 2013

PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

Crossing borders has been usual for Kreator since the very early days. They already hopped the ocean to play America at nineteen, and continued to unite thrash metal fans all over the world for the next 25 years. Until recently, when they got deliberately hampered to play a Middle East show by border officials. 2000 fans from surrounding countries had already gathered in Istanbul. A simple clue that shows: terror prevails.

But, thank god for the internet, other boundaries untied. This is how I met Emma, Kat and the Mille Militia. These guys spent a lot of enthusiasm to spread Violent Evolution around the world, by translating it into English. Thank you for enhancing this book. It was a pleasure.

Hilmar Bender, January 2013

This book is based on narratives by:

Mille – Miland Petrozza – Guitar, Vocals

Jülle – Jürgen Ventor Reil – Drums

Rob – Roberto Fioretti – Bass

Tritze – Jörg Trzebiatowski – Guitar

Frank Blackfire – Frank Gosdzik – Guitar

Joe Cangelosi – Drums

Tommy Vetterli – Guitar

Speesy – Christian Giesler – Bass

Sami Yli-Sirniö – Guitar

Stoney – Andreas Stein – Merchandise, Kreator-Museum

Ulsch – Ulrich Weitz – Tech, Driver

Boggi – Bogdan Kopec – Management

Karl-Ulrich Walterbach – Founder of Noise Records

Manfred Reil – Father

Barbara & Piero Petrozza – Parents

Andreas Marschall – Graphics, Filmmaker

Thomas Schadt – Filmmaker

Sung-Hyung Cho – Filmmaker

Stephanie von Beauvais – Filmmaker

Moses Schneider – Producer

Nagel Mann – Singer, Writer

and

Stefan Remter

Markus Tenbergen &

Christoph Dreher

IT AIN’T WHERE YOU’RE FROM,

IT’S WHERE YOU’RE AT

Miland Petrozza stared into space. He dropped his guitar case on the floor and pushed the strap of his duffel bag from his shoulder. Never before had he returned home feeling so useless. He could still feel the back slaps from the show the night before, but the last few hugs and handshakes had felt more like farewells to the best times of his life. The band was in shambles. Metal was on its deathbed. It was late February 2000 and everything Petrozza had lived for over the last fifteen years had ended.

The tour with the young, gothic metal band Moonspell as a headliner had been a painful farce. With all due respect, Kreator opening for Moonspell? Nobody had made any money from the tour. Management, promotion, line-up, producers – nothing fit together anymore. Too much smoke in the air, too many ice cubes in the bong, too many false notes played.

Farewell, youth of Thrash, Altenessen. Welcome, age of tedium, Essen.

One more band dumped, like overburden on the coal mine spoil tip: wrung out, lifeless, worthless. Nothing justifies the existence of a band that doesn’t believe in itself anymore, a band whose audience only loves them for what they used to be in their glorious past. To leave everything behind would be so simple.

But Miland Petrozza doesn’t give up that easily. He thought of his band mates. He thought of Speesy, of Jülle. Mille made a call.

We need to talk. We have to remember what made us great, what made us something special. We have to go back to our roots and get that old energy back. We need new blood – call the Finn! He fit in well when he toured with us two years ago. We need a fresh start. Fuck writing for the record company! We’ve got to take everything back into our own hands. We have to keep thrashing, blow everyone away and remember how it all started!

One part of this story was born deep in Calabria in the toe of Italy’s boot, where the sun beats down relentlessly and you had better find yourself shade lest it burn you to a crisp. There, a shoemaker fed his family from film screenings and making prosthetic limbs for soldiers who lost their real ones in the last war. This life sustained his family until the shoemaker passed on, leaving his 12-year-old son to look after his mother. Some years later, the son decided it was time he seek his fortune somewhere far away.

Another part of the story began a bit further north, in L’Aquila, not far from Rome, where the earth threatens – with terrible grinding noises – to swallow up the houses, with no regard for how many hundreds of years they have stood. From there, three brothers went to Germany and one to France in search of happiness.

Finally, the roots of this story also grew in Poland, East Prussia, as well as east of Berlin, in places where hardly anything remained after the World War II commanders and their troops had ravaged the area.

Kowalski, Schimanski, Petrozza, Kokoschinski, Wiesioreck, Kopec, Fioretti, Grzeca or even Trzebiatowski. Whatever name it was your parents carried, a common denominator among the boys was that their surnames looked absurd. You had to figure out some way to pronounce them, so consequently, the names soon turned into nicknames. This potpourri was a normal expression of a motley crew. Demarcation unnecessary. Solidarity inevitable. No matter if you were Italian, Yugoslavian, Turkish, Polish; or whatever, your nationality was just another personal characteristic rather than a social division. Unter Tage* sind alle Fratzen grau. Down in the coal mines, all faces are grey. Everyone was the same; all human. Only there, where a glimpse of blue sky, a breath of fresh air was never found, did the fathers meet. From them is where this story derives its origin.

* Translator’s Note: Unter Tage is a German expression for working in the mines, literally below daylight.

The Ruhr region, 1970s. Northern Essen, Altenessen.

In the shadow of the highway, Emscherschnellweg, a street called Hohendahlstraße bends in a U, right across the road from the Emscher School. Around the corner to the right is the Thiesstraße, where, within a few yards of each other, a gaggle of boys all around the same age grew up together. Their fathers worked in the mines while their mothers stayed home to tend to their broods. The apartments were small, the families large, and the boys’ childhoods, through their teenage years, were lived in the streets.

Young Jürgen was eager to help when his father and their neighbor worked on their cars through the evenings, tinkering away. They did everything themselves. When the transmission case broke down, they went to the junk dealer for replacement parts. My father first had a Käfer, then an Opel Rekord, then an Opel Granada, and our neighbor had a Commodore. They even exchanged engines right there in the yard in front of our neighbor’s garage. They built themselves a derrick with a winder that my father got from the mines. That’s what they used to lift the engines out. As a little kid, I used to hang around them all the time, watching. No wonder I wanted to be a mechanic later on. That way I could always help my father out.

Working in the coal mines was out of the question for Jürgen. My father had told me all the horror stories. Even then he said to me, ‘You can do whatever you like for a living. Anything at all. But I do not want you to be a miner.’ He did not want that for me. Obviously, he wore his arguments in plain view: On his shoulders were coal scars made blue from the coal trapped under his skin, and marks from the biggest to the smallest accidents he had endured.

Despite this, father Reil worked in the mines, well aware of the risk that his son might have to grow up without him. A little more than two years later, when Jürgen’s younger brother was born, Mr. Reil changed jobs in the coal industry and stopped his work in the mines.

He keeps an old photograph in his house: of Jürgen standing in line with Miland in front of a slide.

The kindergarten was right down the road from us. I’ve known Miland for thirty-eight years now.

Mille’s family lived just around the corner. There was always music playing in the Petrozza residence. "My grandfather played the banjo and the piano. My father played acoustic guitar in an Italian orchestra. That was in the ‘60s. They played at dances on Sundays, and from time to time he sang with the Italian Catholic congregation. Father was a music fan with a very broad, varied taste in music. He liked everything from Italian operette to German schlager. I learned early on not to limit myself to a single genre of music. Father recorded everything that was on TV. He recorded the sound from the TV using a special cable: disco, hits and the show Musikladen. We listened to the tape over and over until the next show was on, and then we used the same tape again for the next recording."

Mille, a comic book nut, devoured everything from Marvel that he could get his hands on. Spider-Man in particular appealed to him. This interest is what drew him to the KISS characters in their makeup, like superheroes themselves. We stood in front of the KISS posters in Karstadt. It was glamour, it was surreal. I was most fascinated by the cat character.

At thirteen, a dream came true for Mille: KISS had an internal band crisis and cancelled the tour, but they were coming back to Germany the following fall. Everyone who listened religiously to Mal Sondock’s radio show on West Germany’s radio every week was